


Office Anniversaries

by Swampert653 (lionsenpai)



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: F/F, FangRai Forever, Office Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/Swampert653
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which things never go as planned, and Fang's worst day ever quickly becomes her best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lightning shifts in your lap, knees digging into the back of the chair and red dress riding up on her thighs. Her fingers are pulling at the buttons of your blouse while yours dig in against the bone of her hips. The smile on her face still looks like victory. The clock on the wall reads seven thirty-six.

Twenty-seven years is a long time, but in those twenty-seven years, you’ve never had a day worse than today.

“We have reservations,” Lightning tells you, but the way she pulls open the top of your shirt and then goes for your neck with her lips and teeth makes you wonder about how much she really cares about dinner at the fancy restaurant down the street.

“Fuck ‘em,” you grunt, sliding your hands down to her thighs, thumbs pressing along the inside and fingers scratching up just beneath the cut of her dress.

Anniversaries are supposed to be something special. You suppose this counts.

Lightning just laughs hotly against your neck. The sound goes straight to your gut, right down between your legs and makes your eyes flutter and your breath come just a little shallower. Or maybe that’s her mouth, leaving marks and lipstick alike below your ear.

“I could lock up,” you say, nails biting into her skin when she edges her teeth over your neck. The office is supposed to be empty, but you wouldn’t want anyone dropping in on something they weren’t supposed to see. Nothing about this complies with office protocol.

She pulls herself away from your neck long enough to give you a smile that just picks at the edges of her lips. Her lipstick has smeared a little. You want to kiss her.

“Later,” she says and grinds down against you.

Fuck it then. She’s been baiting you into this for long enough as it is.

Of all the days for your car not to start, today was the day. Took you thirty minutes to finally give up on it, twenty to find someone who could get you to work, and an hour and a half for them to come and get you. You were supposed to be home at five thirty, changed and ready to go at six; your harpy of a boss told you to take off when you’d worked a whole day.

Not that you’re much minding that now, with the two of you squeezed together in your computer chair, your desk only inches from Lightning’s back.

And you certainly aren’t minding the little red dress she’s squeezed into either for all the skin it shows. You only wish you’d been ready for your date when she showed up to get you, black slacks and work blouse all you’ve got to work with.

She doesn’t mind, though. Not with your finger creeping up her thighs, seeking the black lace she’s got waiting for you. One hand slides right on up onto her hip, dragging the short dress with it, but the other stops short at her underwear, two fingers against the fabric there.

“Ahh,” she lets out a long, soft breath, closing her eyes and finding your shoulders with her hands. Her hips come down to meet your fingers, and you can feel the heat through her underwear. It’s enough to make your breath catch just for a moment. Then you lean forward to kiss her.

Her fingers slide into your hair, pulling out the tie and lacing in the curls. She tastes like lipstick and mints and just a little desperation when you slide your tongue into her mouth.

And why shouldn’t she? She’s been egging you on all day, texting you if she didn’t know better she’d think you were trying to get her to fend for herself tonight. You’d told her not to worry, you’d handle her, and she’d been forward enough to ask what you had planned. That particular conversation hadn’t been entirely work appropriate either.

You hadn’t told her you were going to fuck her here, but that dress and the way she swung her hips and smiled just so was too much when you were already so hot and bothered. Good thing she don’t seem to mind, starting to dig her nails into your shoulder.

You’re going to ruin that underwear. You don’t care.

She lets up when you pull your fingers back for just a second, gives a soft breath against your lips, and then jolts when you dip beneath the lace to slide a finger inside her. Then it’s all you can do to keep up with _her_ , rocking down to meet each of your thrusts.

Her legs start to shake, and she can’t match your lips whenever you curl your fingers just so. It take every bit of her to keep moving her hips like she is.

When you add a finger and crook them in her immediately, she shudders and breaks away from your lips. But she doesn’t go far. You open your eyes, and she’s right there, breathing hard and biting her lip and letting out little _oh_ ’s and hisses for all the good you’re doing her.

You feel the heat burn between your own legs again at the sight of her, and your fingers work faster for it.

It’s when her voice goes higher, her fingers scratch at you, her shoulders and back go tight and jerky that you know she’s close, and when she arches forward, shaking and shuddering and gasping so perfectly, you bury your face into her shoulder and smell the strawberries of her shampoo and the sweat of her skin and have to bite your lip for all she’s doing to you.

Then all there is is her hard breaths and her fingers still in your hair and the low, soft whisper of: “ _Lock up_.”

You haven’t once looked forward to overtime like you are now, and there’s relief and want clear on your face for all you can’t wait for her to get her legs back.


	2. Chapter 2

Your hands are shaking when you take Lightning by the thighs and hoist her onto the desk behind her.

She grips the edge and breathes in deeply, and you don’t want to leave her for nothing, but you also know that she told you to lock up, and you’ve got no plans to ignore her when she looks like she does, smoky eyes promising to pay you back in kind every time you meet them. Her legs twist at the ankles, her toes curling and uncurling, but her voice is surprisingly steady, “Go on,” she tells you.

And so you do, but not before you lean in and snatch a quick kiss from her. Then you push yourself up onto weak legs and head for the door as quick as you can, not even really breathing until you’ve fished the key from your pants and slid the lock into place, fumbling too much for how excited you are to get back to her.

And when you turn, you don’t see her head of pink hair over the tops of the shitty little cubicles you spend all day in, and that puts a beat in your heart for sure. You round corners like you’ve got something on your tail, but when you get back, she’s still there. She’s bent, pulling at the straps of her heels and slipping out of them with the grace of someone whose legs aren’t jumping and weak.

She looks up at you, kicking the heels under your desk, and gives that perfect little smile again. “Fang,” she sighs, so breathy. She curls a finger at you, and you remember how tight your pants are against you and how much you need her now, and you lurch toward her.

You’re on her quick, pressing your hands to the desk behind her and shivering at the way she meets your mouth with open lips and just enough teeth to get your attention. Her fingers scratch over the back of your neck, down your back, against your hips, and you’re breathless enough from all of it to forget how to kiss her senseless.

When her hands get to the buttons of your blouse, you can barely think beyond the heat and ache between your legs, and you grab a handful of her dress and pull back enough to see her smile again, perfectly pleased with the way you’re shuddering at the graze of her fingers over your bra.

“ _Relax_ ,” she tells you, like she wasn’t just as bad when you had her in your lap with your fingers between her legs.

But damn, isn’t that just the most impossible thing with the tension and excitement making your fingers shake and knees weak. You just give a little huff and grip her dress tighter, leaning into her more for all that it’s getting hard to stand.

But she doesn’t have a care for your feelings, nor the way you were so accommodating to her when she was the one quaking and aching for your touch. She just dips her head, teeth grazing your ear, and presses her cherry red lips to your neck, her hands pressing you through the fabric of your bra.

Your arms go weak like the rest of you, and you have to take hold of Lightning just to keep yourself up. “Light,” you moan, but she just hums against your throat. Your knees begin to dip, and you squeeze your eyes closed because the things she’s doing and the thought of the things she’s gonna do has you dizzy with want.

“ _Light_ ,” you hiss again, and this time her hands drop to your pants, going straight for the fly. She lifts her head from your neck, if only to drop down before you, taking your pants with her and making you ache for her enough to need the edge of the desk to keep yourself standing. The worst is that she stays there, knelt before you with her hands skimming the sides of your thighs and her eyes intent upon you, but she still,  _still_ hasn’t made to touch you.

She must see the tremble in your legs or the wetness between your thighs because when she speaks all you hear is mercy in her tone. “Why don’t you sit down, Fang.”

Lightning rises, her nails biting along your hips and making you shudder out another moan, it’s all you can do to grab at her shoulders when she’s up. Then she’s face to face with you again, and she takes you by the hips and turns you, pushes up onto the edge of your desk and runs her fingers from the outside of your thighs to the tops of them. There’s relief in the way your legs aren’t fighting to keep you up any longer and even more in the way she spreads your legs and begins to kiss down your stomach, muscles jumping at every touch of those teasing lips.

She’s barely got to touch you now, and she knows it. You’re jumping so badly from just this that when she presses her fingers and mouth to where you really need her, you’re going to come undone quicker than hell.

And now that she knows you’re there, she’s got no reservations about pushing you back so your shoulders dig into the wall behind you and then finding your clit with her tongue. It sends a jolt right up your back, makes you yelp and arch your back and dig your fingers into her hair, and you can almost  _hear_  her smile over the sound of your pulse in your ears.

You snatch at her hair, head tipping back to the wall and mouth falling open in a breathless gasp, and pull her into you, pull her hard against you so your legs are rising, toes curled and shins crossed over her back because she’s working her tongue and it’s just what you need, just what you’ve needed since you saw her saunter into your office in her heels and her dress.

You arch your back and squeeze your eyes shut and try not to sound so damn desperate when you moan her name and scrape your nails along her scalp, but for all your effort you’re still holding onto her like life itself and she’s still fucking you on your desk and it’s all a little too much at once.

She crooks one finger inside you, and you see stars, too bright and too soon, and all your frustrations crest in a wave of moans and jittery pleasure that shoots right up your spine and reverberates back down to your toes.

And all the while you’re taking quick, shuddering breaths and trying to stop the shivers running along your arms, your legs, your back, but Lightning is more content to rise and kiss at your neck, slowly and tenderly.

That sucks all the breath right out of you again, and you have to stretch your head up, swallowing and blinking at the ceiling.

“Light,” you stutter, and she just hums against your throat. You scratch your nails over her shoulder when she scrapes her teeth over your neck, and you have to bite your lip to keep from shuddering out her name again.

She takes the hint and pulls away, just enough to let you get your thoughts back, and when you’ve got them all again, you let out a breath and tell her, “And happy fucking anniversary to you too, Sunshine.”

Your head is fuzzy. You don’t mind. She just laughs at you anyway and presses a kiss to your lips, warm and unhurried and far too loving for all the terrible things she does to you.

You guess you don’t really mind that either.


End file.
